Not Just Any Cookie
by RealFunkyTown
Summary: While trying to close a hunt, Dean finds the cookie he's been looking for. And steals it of course.


A scented candle burning on the table filled the small house's air with the overwhelming smell of cinnamon, but it was the underlying aroma that had Dean's nose twitching. With a deep breath he took in a heavy whiff of freshly baked cookies.

The sweet scent triggered a dusty memory that had once stung sharply but had dulled with time. The pang was lost with the rumbling of his stomach.

Dean's eyes wandered towards his target. The cookies for the theater's board of directors lay defenseless, perfectly stacked on a cookie tray beside a few remaining tree ornaments that had yet to be hung.

Between the jelly filled hearts and chocolate dipped delights, it was obvious that Alice Reed really was the freaking Martha Stewart the theatre group made her out to be.

It had still been just him, Mom and Dad the Christmas Eve Dean had decorated his first cookies for Santa. More like Mom had frosted and he'd heaped on enough red and green sprinkles to put his new baby teeth to the test. It was the last time he'd decorated anything.

The next Christmas there were no cookies. They hadn't gone out to get a Christmas tree because they didn't have a house to put it in and there weren't any presents to put beneath it because Santa was no longer what Dean was listening for in the dark.

But there was Sam.

A smirk danced over Dean's lips as he watched his kid brother stand dumfounded, fumbling for words. Alice sat contently on her floral couch. Her white hair was done up in a bun and she calmly sipped her tea. They were only here because she was refusing to fess up the creepy ass doll ornament she was hiding. The doll's hair was the last bit of remains keeping the small downtown theatre spook central.

Alice had seen the spirit of the old owner. She'd even watched it toss the manager down a flight of stairs before it got pumped full of rock salt. It wasn't like they had to choose their words carefully. Hand over the doll or get your ass pitched down the stairs too. Simple enough.

Instead of listening to commonsense, Alice was trying to bargain to keep the spook around until after her theatre's last performance of _A Christmas Carol_. Some crap about the authenticity factor of having a real ghost on the cast.

"How about trading your spook for a real Scrooge?" When Alice looked over her shoulder at him, Dean nodded towards his indignant brother.

"Not helping, Dean," Sam grumbled.

"Told you he's perfect for the part," Dean snickered. "If you're afraid his face will scare the kids we can just throw a bed sheet over his head and you'll still have your ghost."

Sam waved him off in a huff and started pulling cash out of his wallet.

With his brother distracted and Alice's back again to him, Dean innocently leaned against the red velvet tablecloth. His fingers felt around behind his back until they pressed into the tacky softness of partially hardened chocolate.

He broke off a chunk of the cookie and it was heading for his mouth when the cuff of his jacket caught on an ornament hook. Quickly he spun to catch the red globe before it hit the floor.

When he pushed the ornament back next to the cookies his hand brushed against a tuff of hair. The guilty as hell expression he'd been wearing shifted into a grin. With a glance to his side he saw the painted ceramic face of a small doll peeking out from beneath the ornament pile.

It was all dress with a loop on top of its lacy green bonnet. No wonder the old owner was still hanging around. Dean would be pissed too if his only remains had been turned into a scanky doll. The doll was stowed away in Dean's jacket pocket before he could even finish licking the chocolate from his lips and it was forgotten nearly as quickly.

His full attention returned to the cookies. He slipped another bite and nodded to himself. It was exactly what he'd been looking for - the second best cookie he'd ever tasted.

After stuffing a couple extra napkin wrapped cookies into his pocket, Dean strode across the room. He took the money from Sam's hands and tossed it onto the coffee table. With a slap to his brother's back, Dean nodded towards the door.

"Well, thanks for your time, Miss Reed." While he spoke, Dean yanked his confused brother along with him. "Guess we'll see you in January."

Finally catching on, Sam stopped dragging his feet and gave Alice a quick wave before heading out the door with Dean. They jogged quickly down the front steps.

"Did you get it?" Sam asked as they walked swiftly down the driveway towards the Impala.

"I told you, I'm that good."

They had made their getaway and were safely on the road back to the motel before Dean dug into his pocket. He held the wrapped cookies out to Sam without actually looking at his brother. While Sam took the napkin, his voice was muddled with confusion after he unwrapped it.

"This isn't the doll, Dean."

"Forget the stupid doll. Dude, you gotta try these cookies."

"You stole Miss Reed's cookies?"

The old bat had basically threatened their lives when telling them not to touch the cookies. Dean shot his brother a mocking glare. "You think she's really gonna hunt us down?"

"No, but you've made me buy you a package of cookies at every gas station we've passed for the last three hundred miles and you barely touched any of them."

"Those ones don't taste like Mom's." Dean kept his eyes on the road ahead. "These ones do."

"Like Mom's..." Sam's voice trailed into a sigh and Dean could feel his brother's gaze on him. "And you're giving them to me?"

On their way out here Sam had gotten on a nostalgia trip, more of an anti-nostalgia trip. It tended to creep up this time of year if either of them admitted it was that time of year.

When he really thought about it, he got why it didn't mean anything to his brother. Sam had never waited up for the sound of reindeer hoofs on the roof or woken up Mom and Dad early on Christmas morning. Sam didn't remember Mom's last Christmas and he didn't remember the next year when there was no Christmas. He just remembered a bunch of pseudo-Christmas crap.

"I know what her cookies tasted like. Just thought you should too."

"Dean…"

Just the way his brother said his name had all the warning signs of an imminent chick flick moment. Dean didn't want to talk about it, wasn't even sure that he could. All he wanted was to show his little brother what Dad hadn't been able to, that Christmas really was more than an excuse to drink a lot of cheap rum.

With a smirk on his lips, Dean turned onto the highway. "Just shut up and eat your cookies, bitch."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Dean."


End file.
